


things my heart used to know

by biblionerd07



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gift Exchange, Hanukkah, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: T'Challa and his team have removed Bucky's triggers and are ready to wake him up just in time for Hanukkah, so Steve and Sam set out to make sure he has everything he needs to celebrate. Bucky, however, is struggling a bit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Stucky Secret Santa gift for [for-shits-and-hiddles](http://www.for-shits-and-hiddles.tumblr.com)! Happy Hanukkah! I'm not Jewish, so I used [these](http://www.yeshiva.co/midrash/shiur.asp?id=6547) [sources](http://www.beingjewish.com/yomtov/chanukah/menorah.html) [for help](http://ohr.edu/1304) and got the blessings and their translations [here.](http://www.reformjudaism.org/practice/prayers-blessings/hanukkah-blessings) I hope it lives up to your expectations!

It’s December. It’s December, but it’s hard for Steve to remember that. For one thing, it’s hot and sunny outside, with vibrant plants bursting out everywhere. He’s used to December meaning scarves and cold noses, flus and frozen fingers and a deep, aching cough.

Most importantly, though, he doesn’t have Bucky.

Not the Bucky only means December. Bucky means every month. Every… _everything_. And now Steve doesn’t have him. Bucky’s alive, of course, and he’s back to being Bucky—being called Bucky, at any rate—but he’s in cryo. He can’t tease Steve, can’t dare him into things, can’t rub his back and calm him down when he rages.

So, it’s December. Technically.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice comes from behind Steve. “How’s he doing?”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “He’s great.”

He’s sitting at the foot of Bucky’s cryo tank. It’s pathetic, really, but Steve got over that months ago.

“So.” Sam eases down to sit next to Steve. “You’ve been coming in here more and more lately.”

“T’Challa says the doctors think they’re close.”

“And you’re, what, keeping vigil?”

Steve huffs. “I guess.” Neither of them say anything, and then Steve admits softly, “I don’t know how to stay away from him.”

Sam hums but doesn’t speak, which Steve appreciates more than he can say. Sam doesn’t judge him. Well, he _does_ , but he still comes along for the ride anyway.

“What about you?” Steve asks. “Almost the holidays. You doing okay?”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Not the first time I’ve been away from my family on Christmas.”

Steve nods sympathetically, unsure of anything he could say to make Sam feel better. They sit for a few more minutes, staring into Bucky’s placid face, and then Steve gives himself a little shake and stands up. “Alright,” he says, after clearing his throat. “Want to go run?”

Sam sighs, loudly, and pulls a face, but he agrees. He walks out first, giving Steve enough time to glance back at Bucky one last time.

 

“Captain,” T’Challa says. Everyone in the room springs to their feet except Sam, who keeps languidly eating his breakfast and making bedroom eyes at T’Challa. Steve can’t tell if it’s a game the two of them are playing or if they’re actually sleeping together, and Sam won’t give him a straight answer.

“Your Highness,” Steve says, inclining his head. T’Challa doesn’t mind when Sam sasses him, but Steve would rather not push his luck with the monarch of the country housing not only them but also Bucky in a pretty damn vulnerable state. Steve doesn’t think T’Challa would kick Bucky out—he cares about Bucky getting some reparation after everything that’s happened to him, and it wouldn’t be the best for world safety, probably—but Steve doesn’t think he can be as confident about himself, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave Bucky.

“The doctors will be ready to wake Sergeant Barnes tomorrow afternoon,” T’Challa informs him. Steve’s stomach drops about thirty floors.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Okay.”

“They think it would be best for him to be surrounded by familiarity when he awakes,” T’Challa says. “Will you be able to be present?”

“Of course,” Steve trips over himself to say. “Of course I’ll be there—I’d insist anyway.”

T’Challa smiles faintly. “Yes, I think you would. Can you think of things to bring with you that would be familiar to him?”

“Um.” Steve’s at a loss. His first thoughts flash toward his shield and Bucky’s rifle, but he immediately recoils from those. He thinks back, pulls up memories of an armchair with a broken leg, a deep claw-foot tub, a cracked mirror, comic books, baseball gloves, cigarettes. But those seem a bit weird to bring into a sterile white room in Wakanda.

It’s December, he reminds himself. They’ll be waking him up on December 24. “Do you know where I could get a menorah?” He asks. T’Challa tilts his head, considering.

“I am not sure,” he says apologetically. “We have our official religion here, and we are not used to accommodating visitors yet.”

“Guess you don’t Amazon Prime out here, huh?” Steve jokes. T’Challa smirks.

“Of course we do,” he says. “But the shipping costs can be quite prohibitive. I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, distracted already by his plans. He’s not, however, too distracted to see the way T’Challa’s eyes snag on Sam’s. Steve hides a grin behind his hand.

“Hanukkah?” Sam asks after he watches T’Challa walk away.

“The first night’s tomorrow,” Steve says. “I don’t know if Bucky’s…I mean, he obviously wasn’t celebrating—well, I…” He breaks off and looks down at the table. “I thought it might be nice.”

“Okay,” Sam says softly. “What do we need to do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Steve admits. “When we were really young, they didn’t celebrate every year. It wasn’t as big back then. They celebrated when Bucky’s grandparents came, because they celebrated _everything_. But Bucky’s parents were kinda wary about me hanging around, and I was usually sick enough that it didn’t make much difference. And then when we got older and everyone realized me and Buck were a package deal…” Steve presses his lips together. “They didn’t know how safe it was for them to celebrate much. People don’t like to admit it, but America wasn’t so high and mighty during Hitler’s run either, you know.”

“Oh, I can believe it,” Sam says, and Steve nods. Right. Of course Sam doesn’t have a hard time believing it. “Alright,” Sam says. “So…I know some basics, you know some basics, Google exists. We can do this.”

Steve doesn’t even have to spare a second for surprise that Sam’s immediately on board with his plan. He does, however, spare a second to wrap Sam in a crushing hug that makes Sam exaggerate getting the wind knocked out of him.

Thirty minutes later, Steve’s exasperated. “How am I supposed to know what’s right when all these websites contradict themselves?” He asks Sam.

“I found a WikiHow,” Sam says, wincing. “But I don’t know how right it feels to use that as our touchstone.”

Steve, despite having used quite a few Wiki articles in his time adjusting to this new world, has to agree. “I wish I could call Winifred,” he murmurs. Honestly, he wishes he could call Bucky’s mother for a variety of reasons, but especially now.

Sam puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried about getting everything right,” he says. “But don’t we really just need to make sure Barnes has everything he needs and then he can show us the right way to celebrate?”

“If he—” Steve clamps down on the rest of the sentence. He was going to say _if he remembers_. But saying it out loud feels like he’ll jinx it. Bucky remembered Sarah, didn’t he? He remembered a date they went on to Coney Island. Surely he’d remember his own religion.

There’s just a part of Steve that doesn’t quite believe it, a part that still closes his eyes and sees Bucky’s blank eyes sliding right past him, hears Bucky’s voice grating out _who the hell is Bucky_ , feels Bucky’s metal fist shattering his bones. That Bucky—the Winter Solider, _not_ Bucky—didn’t remember anything.

Sam sees through him, though. “Hmm. You think HYDRA took extra steps to wipe that out of him?”

“I don’t know if HYDRA knew,” Steve tells him. “He didn’t exactly have it on his dog tags.”

Sam absorbs that for a minute, then sighs. “Well, I wish I could say we’ll figure it out and do it perfectly, but neither of us can guarantee that. So we’ll just have to do our best and if Barnes remembers, he can correct us.”

Steve doesn’t let himself think about the other half of that _if_.

After an hour, they come up with a basic plan, but it doesn’t come together until T’Challa knocks on the door and hands over the menorah. It’s gleaming silver, obviously vibranium, with a Star of David holding up the highest candle in the middle, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he sees it. It’s beautiful.

“Did someone just make this?” Steve asks. T’Challa inclines his head.

“We read about it on the internet, so I hope it is satisfactory.” He sounds apologetic. “I suppose if we are planning to allow more visitors, we should be prepared for different religions and their celebrations. Perhaps we will start with an Israeli delegation to help us get the details correct.”

“This is…” Steve swallows hard. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” T’Challa says. “I wish Barnes a speedy recovery. This is the least I could do to make up for the horrors he has seen.”

“You’re doing a lot to make up for that,” Steve murmurs, looking down at the clean lines of the candleholders. Sam “mysteriously” disappears for a few hours after that, and Steve spends more time reading. He finds a video for children with pronunciations of the blessings and watches it three times to make sure he’s saying everything right. The little animated characters are pretty cute, too.

Somehow, before he knows it, he’s walking into the room Bucky’s been in for six months and holding his breath as the doctors and technicians swarm around Bucky’s cryo tank. They’d all decided it might be best for Sam to hang back at first, since even Bucky’s best memory of Sam involved being crammed into a tiny car for a few hours. Sam hadn’t seemed too put out about it.

Steve watches as the doctors push buttons and check monitors. He feels helpless. They brought him a chair, but he can’t sit down. He’s holding the menorah—a bunch of the YouTube comments told him it was a _hanukkiah_ , but he’s not very confident in his ability to pronounce the word without ruining it—and feeling incredibly out of place.

But from the first flutter of Bucky’s eyelashes, it feels like everything else falls away. Steve has to stop himself from rushing right up to the pod, forcing himself to stay back and not overwhelm Bucky. He knows he can be pretty overwhelming at the best of times, let alone when Bucky’s thawing out after being frozen for half a year.

“Steve,” Bucky croaks out, and all Steve’s resolutions fly out the window. He crosses the room in three steps, ignoring the bite of cold in his hands as he reaches for Bucky.

“I’m right here,” he assures Bucky. Bucky’s visibly confused, blinking and looking around, color starting to return to his cheeks, and Steve wants to press Bucky’s face into his chest and hold him for a million years. “It’s alright, Buck,” Steve promises. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

“Not…HYDRA,” Bucky tests slowly.

“Never again,” Steve says tightly. Bucky tips his head to the side and just looks at Steve for a minute.

“You wouldn’t be with HYDRA,” Bucky says softly. “Not free. Oh—Wakanda,” he remembers. He gasps a little and looks down at his empty left sleeve. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay. Yeah. Wakanda. Am I safe?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Ever again.”

“No,” Bucky protests, shaking his head. “I mean am I…are people safe? From me?”

Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest as he realizes what Bucky’s saying. “Yeah, Buck, they got all the triggers out of your head,” he says. “Did it real quick while you were sleeping.”

“Good,” Bucky says, nodding tiredly. “S’good. Whatcha got?”

“Oh.” Steve holds up the menorah. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Bucky goes still. Well, more still than he already was. He hasn’t moved yet. The doctors warned Steve it would take a few minutes for feeling to return to his limbs. “Hanukkah,” he repeats.

“Tonight’s the first night. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “Yeah, seventy-two years was probably a long enough break.”

Steve licks his lips. Bucky seems to remember, but he doesn’t seem…happy. Not that Steve can really blame him. Bucky has plenty to be unhappy about. “Well, I thought we’d go back to our—Sam and I have an apartment we’ve been staying in. T’Challa gave us a place to stay. So we could go back there and put it in the window? Recite the blessings and light it?”

Bucky clumsily raises a hand to run through his hair. “It’s not dark yet,” he points out.

“Well, no,” Steve admits, a bit at a loss. “But I thought it might take a bit for you to be able to walk and get cleaned up and everything.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Alright,” he says. “But I don’t know how much else I’ll be able to do.”

“No, that’s fine,” Steve trips over himself to say. “I figured we could save the bigger celebrations for tomorrow. Or the next night! We’ve got eight nights.”

Bucky starts to climb out of the pod and Steve immediately wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist to help. Bucky leans his head against Steve’s for a minute and Steve has to close his eyes against the onslaught of emotion that hits him. Bucky smells like a hospital, sterile and medicinal, which is not Steve’s favorite smell, but he’s _Bucky_ and he’ll always be Steve’s favorite everything.

“I didn’t get you any presents,” Bucky says. He’s smiling, kind of, like it’s a joke, but his mouth is trembling a little. Steve carefully sets the menorah down on the table in the room and puts both his arms around Bucky. Bucky melts into him, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, and Steve closes his eyes again. This is all he ever wanted, really, though he could do without a whole lot of the circumstances that got them here.

“Not to sound real cheesy,” Steve says, muffled in Bucky’s hair. “But you being here is all the present I need.”

It takes a minute, but Bucky eventually snorts. “That’s real cheesy,” he says. Steve doesn’t mention the tremor in his voice or the way his arm tightens around Steve.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve whispers, and they just stand there hanging on for a while.

 

“Okay,” Steve says. “I thought we needed candles but turns out we don’t. These are cups for oil. So I got the oil and wicks but I—everything I read talked about candles.” Steve can’t believe everything’s falling apart already. T’Challa was maybe overly thoughtful; he carefully read the story of the Maccabees and the oil and thought the best course of action in constructing the menorah would be to make cups for the oil, to follow the original story.

But Steve doesn’t know how to light the oil cups. Everything he read told him to light the shamesh, set higher than the other candles, and then use that to light the other candles. How is he supposed to do that with oil and wicks?

“Can we use a candle to light the oil?” Sam asks.

“I…I’ll have to check,” Steve says, frustrated.

“It’s okay,” Bucky breaks in. He finally moves from his spot on the couch, where he’d been sitting for the last hour, to come closer to the menorah. He stares for a minute, then presses his lips together. “We didn’t have candles in ours,” he murmurs, eyes far away. “But we can still use the shamesh to light the wicks. You want to do it?” He asks Steve, suddenly back in the room with them. “You got everything ready.”

“Uh.” Steve darts a quick look at Sam, who just raises his eyebrows. “You sure?” Steve asks Bucky. “You don’t want to do it?”

Bucky licks his lips and looks away. “You worked hard,” he says. “You should do it.”

Steve can tell there’s more to it, but he doesn’t want to bring it up now, so he takes the matches and the shamesh. He clears his throat. “Okay,” he says. “Um, I’ll say the blessings first, and then light the first candle. Uh, wick, I guess.”

“No talking between the blessings and the lighting,” Bucky warns, and Steve feels his lips twitch as he remembers Winifred’s ever-present wooden spoon, ready to rap the knuckles of any wayward child. Bucky meets his eyes and smiles too, obviously remembering the same thing.

“Okay,” Steve repeats. “Everybody ready?” Sam nods. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he’s looking back at Steve when Steve glances at him. Steve’s palms start to sweat a little bit. He memorized the words from the kid’s video, but no one was listening to him then. Sam won’t know the difference, probably, but Bucky sure will.

Steve takes a deep breath and starts. “ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”_ He looks over at Bucky for a second before he starts the next one. Bucky’s looking down at the ground, but when he feels Steve’s eyes on him he looks up and nods encouragingly. He’s not quite smiling, but it looks like he’s trying.

“ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v'imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz'man hazeh._ ”

Bucky’s eyes are shining and he won’t meet Steve’s eyes this time. Steve moves to light the oil and Bucky looks up sharply, shaking his head and throwing out his hand to stop Steve. Steve flushes. Right. It’s the first night. He has a third blessing to say. He falters for a second, and Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve sucks in a breath and goes on.

“ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higianu laz'man hazeh._ ” He botches the gutturals a bit, the same problem he had learning German during the War, but Bucky lets his thumb sweep against Steve’s neck, so he figures he didn’t too awful.

He tips the candle toward the wick in the filled oil cup and finally feels like he can breathe when it catches. He did it. The candles will burn for the next half hour, long enough for Steve to haltingly tell the story of the rebellion and the Maccabees. Bucky doesn’t jump in to help him much, but Sam does, since they read the same article. When they’re done, Bucky squeezes his shoulder.

“Good job,” he says quietly. He seems off, but Steve can’t place it.

“Wow,” Sam says. “Who knew Captain America could speak Hebrew?”

“He can’t,” Bucky says with a smirk that grows into an actual laugh at Steve’s offended look. “Nah, you did real great.” His voice goes softer. “Ma would’ve been proud.”

That just about knocks the breath out of Steve. “Thanks,” he manages to say. “So, um, you want to make latkes? We could only find three potatoes but we got some plantains and we could see if those work.”

“I think I’ll just go to bed,” Bucky says. Then he pauses. “Um, is that okay? Me staying here?”

“Of course it is,” Steve scrambles to say. “Here, come—I’ll show you.”

There isn’t actually a third bedroom, but there’s a little office that Steve put a cot in. He doesn’t take Bucky there, though; he takes Bucky to his bedroom, a fact Bucky notices immediately.

“This is your room,” he says. There’s a picture of Peggy on the wall and Bucky’s own picture on the nightstand. Maybe Steve should’ve moved that one. It might be weird for Bucky to wake up staring at his own face.

“It’s okay, I can sleep down the hall,” Steve says.

“I don’t want to take your room.” Bucky’s looking at his shoes and Steve’s chest feels tight, like it used to when he was a kid and taking a deep breath was impossible. Bucky was always there then, too.

“I want you here,” Steve says softly. “I always want you here. And you just woke up from _cryo_ , Bucky. I want you to sleep well.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Okay,” he finally says. “For tonight. But tomorrow you’re back in your own bed.”

Steve bites his tongue to keep from telling Bucky the bed’s big enough for two. He doesn’t want to push Bucky.

“Goodnight,” Steve says.

“Night.”

 

The next day, Bucky’s mostly quiet, but he doesn’t hide out in Steve’s room like Steve was afraid he would. He just sits on the couch or at the kitchen table, and Steve catches him staring at the menorah multiple times. Steve’s burning to hear what’s going on in his head, but Bucky just looks so tired, and he just woke up from cryo, and Steve can’t make himself press.

Steve and Sam exchange Christmas gifts and Bucky participates enough to help keep Sam’s mind off missing his family. There weren’t any pine trees for them to put up, so Steve drew one on a big piece of butcher paper and taped it to the wall. It looks ridiculous, and they all keep laughing when they look at it.

The closer it gets to nightfall, the twitchier Bucky gets. He keeps biting at the inside of his cheeks, a nervous tick he’s had as long as Steve’s known him. Steve can’t figure out why lighting the menorah is making Bucky so nervous. He seemed at least partially positive about it last night.

“Buck?” Steve asks quietly, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom where Bucky’s just sitting on the floor, staring into space. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky says automatically, eyes still unfocused.

“Bucky.”

“I said I’m fine.” Bucky looks up at Steve, biting his lip, and Steve can see him splintering. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve stops himself from demanding Bucky talk to him. He stops himself from getting angry. He drops to sit next to Bucky and keeps his hands folded in his lap.

“You don’t have to,” he says. Bucky looks over with an arched eyebrow and Steve cracks a smile. “Not like me, huh?”

“Not that I remember. But what do I know?” Bucky asks morosely.

“Hey,” Steve says, nudging Bucky’s leg with his own. “Do you not want to do the blessings and the lighting because you don’t remember?”

“You said I didn’t have to talk about it,” Bucky reminds him wryly.

Steve huffs. “You don’t _have_ to. But I can still ask.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I remember,” he says. “I remember a hell of a lot more than I wish I did.”

“Bucky,” Steve starts.

“No,” Bucky interrupts. “I did those things, Steve. My finger on the trigger, my hand around the throats. I did that longer than I did anything else. So how can I—I can’t just light the candles and act like I’m the good little boy who helped my ma—”

“But you _are_ ,” Steve argues. “Bucky, you didn’t even know your own name and you pulled me from the river. You’re still you.”

“I don’t know if I am,” Bucky whispers. “And I don’t deserve to sit around eating latkes and playing dreidel like I haven’t murdered twenty-two people. This is _holy_ , Steve, and I don’t—I can’t be around anything holy.” He stands up and steps over Steve, walking out without another word, and a few seconds later Steve hears the front door close. Doesn’t slam, just closes quietly, but Steve hears it all too loudly anyway.

Night falls, and Bucky doesn’t come back. Steve doesn’t know what to do. He can’t ignore the second night of Hanukkah, but Bucky isn’t here. He doesn’t want them to miss the second night, but he doesn’t know if he should do it without Bucky. Is he allowed? He isn’t Jewish. But he doesn’t want Bucky to come back and be upset that they skipped over the second night. Then again, what if he does it and Bucky comes back and is upset he did?

Steve shakes his head at himself. Bucky’s got plenty to be mad at Steve about that has nothing to do with Hanukkah. In the end, he calls Sam over and they do it without Bucky. Sam does the blessings and the lighting this time. Steve notes, to his surprise, Sam’s recitation is much closer to the video than his own was. Not that Steve’s _arrogant_ or anything, but the serum does give him a perfect memory.

“I can watch the same video you can,” Sam points out, laughing at him. “I think your problems had more to do with nervousness than anything else.”

Steve sighs, wondering where Bucky is. At least he doesn’t have to worry about him being cold. “Maybe.”

After the lights are out and Steve’s sitting alone at the kitchen table, Bucky comes home. They stare at each other for a minute, neither of them moving or speaking, and then Bucky closes the door behind him and comes into the kitchen.

“You light it?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I hope that’s okay.”

Bucky shrugs, coming closer. “Fine by me.”

“Don’t really know what to say here, Buck,” Steve admits. “Not like I can just say _you’re forgiven_ and make it true universally.”

“Not that you won’t try,” Bucky murmurs, almost smiling. Steve reaches out tentatively, pulling Bucky in closer when he doesn’t move away, so that they’re touching, Steve’s arms around Bucky’s waist and their heads tipped together.

“I guess I should’ve asked if you wanted to do Hanukkah before I just assumed,” Steve says. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to have something familiar and good.”

Bucky sighs, nuzzling his face against Steve’s in a way that makes Steve’s throat get tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I just feel…dirty. Unworthy. Doesn’t feel right. Especially when it’s so beautiful.” He tips his head toward the menorah and Steve nods.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Steve says quietly. “I don’t know almost anything about your religion, Buck. Can you believe that? Everything else I know about you but this…I don’t know this.”

Bucky bites at his lip. “I could teach you,” he says, almost sounding shy. “Some stuff we’ll have to learn together. You know my parents got worried and we stopped doing as much.”

“You changed your mind?” Steve asks.

Bucky sighs again. He leans down a bit so he can rest against Steve. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of any of this,” he reiterates his earlier words. “But, uh. That’s not really for me to decide, huh? I’m not the one who’s judging it. Maybe I figure I should do my best to do good things, earn myself some points up there, make up for the things I did. And Hanukkah, you know, it’s.” He clears his throat. “Rededication. The rededication of the oil and…our lives. So I can, well, maybe I can rededicate myself. Good instead of bad.”

Bucky’s got tears in his eyes, but Steve’s no better. He’s practically got Bucky resting in his lap by now, and he just nods against the back of Bucky’s head. “That sounds great, Buck. And for what’s it worth? You’re worthy of me. Okay? More than.”

Bucky twists around so he can smile at Steve. “You sweet on me?” He teases.

“Just a little,” Steve admits. It draws a huff of laughter out of Bucky, and then they’re kissing, and something in Steve’s shoulders eases up after what feels like a lifetime of weighing him down.

“Where’s Wilson?” Bucky asks. “Thought you mentioned latkes.”

“I think he has a gentleman caller,” Steve dishes, getting an interested hum from Bucky. “Maybe we should wait for him. He loves potatoes. Wanna play dreidel until he gets home?”

Bucky snorts. “You’ll break it again.” He’s referencing the first and last time Bucky had allowed him to play dreidel with him and his sisters. Steve, always competitive, had gotten a bit heated.

“I was nine!” Steve bursts out. Bucky’s been holding this over his head for decades. “And you were cheating.”

“Only one cheating was you,” Bucky keeps up his familiar end of the argument.

“Anyway, I couldn’t get a real dreidel here in time and I felt bad asking T’Challa again,” Steve says. “But there’s an app now. We can do it on the phone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky asks. “You ain’t getting anywhere _near_ my phone to play a game.” He pauses. “I don’t even know if I still have a phone, actually.”

“You do,” Steve tells him. “I kept it safe for you.”

Bucky’s smile goes all soft around the edges in a way that makes Steve want to duck his head a bit. “You did, huh?” He asks. He runs his thumb along Steve’s jaw. “Kept a lot of things safe for me, didn’t you?”

“Tried,” Steve says, the only thing he can get out around the lump in his throat.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers. “You did a great job.”

Steve doesn’t know if he can help Bucky reconcile what HYDRA made him do with his faith. He doesn’t know what, exactly, they’re going to do next. But he does know that whatever that is, be it eating their weight in latkes or heading to Europe to fight against evil or just spending the rest of their days hiding, they’re going to do it together. And together will go a long way to making things alright.

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDmvvAhTn2c) is the video Steve watched to learn how to pronounce the blessings correctly! The translations for the blessings are, in order:
> 
> Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, Sovereign of all, who hallows us with mitzvot, commanding us to kindle the Hanukkah lights.
> 
> Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, Sovereign of all, who performed wonderous deeds for our ancestors in days of old at this season.
> 
> Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, Sovereign of all, for giving us life, for sustaining us, and for enabling us to reach this season.


End file.
